He turned serious. “All fooling aside, young Andy here organized the military telegraph and railroad for us early in the war, and they’ve been one of our great advantages. He rushed the trains to rescue thousands of our men wounded at First Bull Run. It’s just a pity he didn’t ask for a brigadier general’s commission; he would have had one at the drop of a hat, but he could not resist the money piling up in the Pennsylvania Railroad business. I tell you, Sharpe, if ever you need a keen organizer, call on young Andy here.”
Carnegie had waited patiently to get a word in. “Achh, noo, Charlie, you think you can dangle stars before the eyes of a poor Scottish weaver’s son. Shame on yea. I tell you I do more for the Union by running a railroad well than I would as a major general. Oh, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel Sharpe.”
“And did I tell you how modest he was,” Dana added. Carnegie blushed a bright red, quite a contrast to his light blue eyes and white hair. Dana was not through getting a rise out of him and added, “And how much reverence he has for the British crown?”
Carnegie’s entire demeanor changed instantly. The color drained from his face, and his eyes glinted like ice. “I came to this country to see the last of crowns. The sooner Britain is a republic, the better for the whole world.”
Dana pulled him by the arm. “Come on, Andy, you can damn the monarchy later. We have business.” Adams saluted and excused himself as well to deliver dispatches to the White House. Sharpe wished them all good evening and headed for home. He had walked as far as Jackson’s statue, when a White House secretary chased him down.
“Colonel Sharpe,” he said breathlessly, “the President requests that you attend him in the morning on his visit to the Navy Yard.”
EBBITT GRILL, WASHINGTON, D.C., 8:00 PM, AUGUST 6, 1863
Without his family, Sharpe’s big house echoed with silence. The servants had been let off for the summer, and there was no food. After washing, Sharpe sought out dinner. The Ebbitt Grill was close and among the best eating establishments in the city. He was lucky to find a table near the door and an open window; the city may have emptied out, but that left hundreds of officers tied to their duties who liked to relax over a good meal as the evening cooled.
He had just been given the menu when he noticed the maître d’ telling a British naval officer and another man with an eye patch that it would be at least an hour before they could be seated. Sharpe walked over, “Gentlemen, you are welcome to share my table.” Interesting company would compensate a bit for the cheerless house.
“Most handsome of you, sir. I am Capt. George Hancock, of Her Majesty’s Ship Immortalité, attached to our embassy as a temporary observer of this unfortunate war. May I present Mr. Garnet Wolseley, a visitor from our country.” The one-eyed man was about thirty years old, with a weak chin and a thin mustache. His single blue eye, however, was hawk sharp and intelligent. The man’s military bearing was unmistakable. Sharpe introduced himself as the commander of the 120th NY Volunteers. This was more than just company to pass the time, thought Sharpe. The one-eyed man was too interesting. “Mr. Wolseley” indeed. The captain’s skills at concealment were, to say the least, lacking.
The waiter recommended an excellent French wine and the roast quail stuffed with wild rice and creamed carrots. The wine instantly reminded Sharpe of the two delightful years he spent in Paris, where he perfected his French and refined his palate. In his mind, he upped the already generous tip he normally would have given.
As much as he looked forward to the wine, he was far more interested in his civilian dinner party guest. The one-eyed man was no other than Lt. Col. Garnet Wolseley, the Assistant Quartermaster General for the British forces in Canada. That alone made him a person of interest for Sharpe. During the crisis of the Trent Affair, the British had reinforced their garrison in Canada to more than eighteen thousand men, including a Guards Brigade of two battalions. Wolseley had not come by the position as reward for good breeding, but as a protégé of Lt. Gen. Sir Hope Grant, the hero of the Sepoy Revolt and the best general the British had. Wolseley had been one of Grant’s brilliant subordinates in the campaigns that had broken the Sepoys in India in 1857-58 and sacked the imperial summer palace outside Peking in 1860. He had ridden the glory path with Grant and was in Canada, considered with Corfu to be the best duty station in the British Army, as a reward for gallant service. He came from a military family and had lost his eye as a subaltern in the Crimean War. He was very much a man on the way up.
Of equal interest and the obvious reason for Captain Hancock’s flimsy cover story was Wolseley’s notoriety. Out of boredom apparently, he and another officer had taken leave to see the war among the Americans. They had drawn straws to see which side each would visit. Wolseley had drawn the South. He had slipped through the Union pickets and across the Rappahannock River to Fredericksburg and on to Richmond, where he was received at the highest levels and given handsome letters of introduction to Lee. The visit developed into an unabashed case of outright hero worship. For the rest of his life, he would hold Lee as the absolute paragon and say in his later years, “I have met two men whom I prized above all the world I have ever known, and the greater of these two was General Lee.” The other was the British general Charles “Chinese” Gordon, who would perish gloriously at Khartoum a generation later.
Wolseley’s visit to Lee might have gone unnoticed save for the article he wrote for Blackwood’s Magazine that received much notice not only in Britain but also in the States. It had given astute professional insight into the Army of Northern Virginia. His opinion was that he never saw an army composed of men who “looked more like work” than this one.17 The contrast with their ragged condition could not have been starker in the eyes of an officer from an army of sartorial splendor. In a review held of Hood’s Texas Division for his benefit, Wolseley was shocked to see so many trousers worn out at the bottom as the ranks passed. Noticing his surprise, Lee remarked, “Never mind the raggedness, Colonel. The enemy never sees the back of my Texas Brigade.” Sharpe could appreciate that because he had helped the Army of the Potomac prove Lee wrong at Gettysburg.
Wolseley’s escapade might have created less controversy had he not offered good reasons for a British alliance in order to safeguard Her Majesty’s possessions in North America. His statement that a defeated North could not attack Canada if threatened by Britain’s Confederate ally won him no thanks in the Union.
With all this in mind, Sharpe was most interested in what Wolseley was doing back in the United States. Wolseley seemed most interested in Sharpe’s experience at Gettysburg and his opinion of the battle. It was a safe subject to draw him out on, and Sharpe steered the discussion to the conduct of the battle in general. Wolseley’s disappointment in the outcome of the battle was clear. He could not believe Lee had blundered and kept quizzing Sharpe to discover some explanation that would exculpate his hero. Nonetheless, Sharpe had to admit that his questions were penetrating and his comments insightful. This was a man who knew the business of soldiering.
Wolseley snorted in contempt when Sharpe described the moving scene of the Irish Brigade kneeling to receive the benediction of Father William Corby, who blessed their heroic charge. He evidently assumed that Sharpe’s name put his ancestors on the Anglo-Saxon side of the Irish Sea. Wolseley asked, “Are you by chance related to Col. Richard Sharpe of the 95th Rifles?”